


Study of the Subject

by houseofthestars



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post A+ Support, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sex Education, even if he has never had it before, ferdinand is determined to be the Best at Sex, mentions of knifeplay, ye olde fódlan cosmo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofthestars/pseuds/houseofthestars
Summary: It’s not like he hasn’t speculated, of course. A whole deal of speculation had gone on before he and Hubert had ever stated their intentions towards one another at all; perhaps a little too much speculation, in fact. But speculation has all it has been, what with the expectations of nobility and then the rather pressing issue of war. And Ferdinand may be an optimist, but he rather suspects there is quite a difference between imagination and reality.A thought strikes him. He may not have practical experience, but he has overcome greater difficulties than this. He can apply himself, as he has before, and triumph.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 57
Kudos: 362





	Study of the Subject

Ferdinand knows courtship. The concept had been generally explained to him once he had turned 16, but at the time Ferdinand had felt the information provided was insufficient. If one danced with the same potential match at a ball for too long, society would consider them engaged, but how long was too long? Exactly what subjects should one’s poetry cover? Where might be the best venue for delivery of a proposal? How best might one enquire as to whether a noble bears a major or minor crest without causing offence?

As a noble and a von Aegir he was duty bound to approach all of life’s duties with the care, honour and dignity that they deserved, so as not to besmirch the name of the House. Should he encounter someone he wished to pursue, they would be courted with all the respect due to them as, presumably, a fellow noble. Thus, he undertook a great deal study of the subject, instructing his valet to provide him with a wide range of reading. Luckily, the matter of marriage has been one that dwells heavily on the minds of the nobility since there was a nobility to speak of at all, and so Parsons had laid before a young Ferdinand a pile of periodicals, treatises and pamphlets published only over the last three hundred years, for brevity.

“There’s an awful lot to know, isn’t there, Parsons?” Ferdinand had said thoughtful at the time, flicking through a slim volume recounting ballroom dance etiquette. “Seems rather a miracle that anybody gets married at all.”

“I shouldn’t worry about it too much, Lord Ferdinand,” Parsons had said. “You have plenty of time, and where there is a will, there’s a way, as I believe the saying goes.”

“But I must worry!” Ferdinand had exclaimed. “I am sure Edelgard must also be considering such things herself now that she has made her debut. I must show that the von Aegir is the superior house to join wealth with, and I a superior suitor, to all who might appraise us both.”

So Ferdinand knew courtship, three hundred years of it, all of its contrariness and propriety and subtlety. 

None of this helped one jot right now, of course, so many years later. According to his extensive study, marriage partners should not converse privately, be alone in a room or call one another by their first names before engagement, so as not to call into question the honour of those involved. And yet, here he is, in an empty classroom of the monastery with Hubert, his own back pressed against the door as Hubert kisses him. Forcing Ferdinand to abandon everything he assumed to be true, yet again.

This is far from the first time they have done this, but it still feels so new in many ways. Their fingers are intertwined loosely at their hips and they kiss slowly, carefully; it’s as if every time, Hubert asks the same question, and Ferdinand must reply yes, yes, again and again. Hubert leans over him but their bodies only just brush, just a sensation of shared body heat in the distance between them, maddening in its proximity.

He makes a small noise in the back of his throat and Hubert’s grip involuntarily tightens on his hands in response, and he can’t help but tug them gently towards himself, try to coax Hubert closer. Hubert shifts one step forward and finally the gap between their chests closes, and Hubert lets out a ragged sigh against his lips. Ferdinand can taste the coffee they shared earlier, smell the dusting of rain they dashed through to get here seeping into their clothes. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather have captivating his senses.

One of Hubert’s hands releases his own, drags fingers up Ferdinand’s arm to grip his bicep, leaving goosebumps where it has trailed. Ferdinand brings his own hand to Hubert’s hip, stroking his thumb over the fabric of his jacket, and there it stays as they return to kissing, and he can’t help but let go of Hubert’s other hand so that he can instead reach for the small of his back, which Hubert reacts to with a small huff but no complaints. Hubert catches his bottom lip between his teeth briefly, and that’s new, but rather welcome, and Ferdinand kisses him with a little more vigor in response. Ferdinand’s heart thumps in his chest, but the only sounds around him are their lips, their sighs, their breathing, more beguiling than any aria. And from there it feels very natural to pull Hubert forward again, bring him as close as he can be, part his thighs so Hubert can slide one knee between and—

The two of them gasp almost simultaneously and Hubert stumbles back a little, flushing crimson, and Ferdinand can feel heat all the way to the tops of his ears as well. Hubert’s mouth is blushed pink too, raw from kisses, which certainly doesn’t help the situation at all in Ferdinand’s opinion.

“Ferdinand,” says Hubert, a little hoarsely.

“Ah. Forgive me,” Ferdinand replies, sheepishly. He can still feel each thump of his heart. “That was improper.”

“Not improper. Or even... unwelcome,” Hubert says, and then closes his eyes, takes a breath, as if to compose himself. The next comes out in a rush. “We should perhaps consider our location, however. And this situation is... new to me. If you understand my meaning.”

Ferdinand feels a rush of relief. “I, ah. Yes. As it is to me, of course. Perhaps we might adjourn this, for now.”

“People may be wondering about our whereabouts,” Hubert agrees quickly, and the two of them straighten, Ferdinand’s hands smoothing distractedly along the front of his jacket, though it is perfectly rumple-free. Their eyes catch one another’s, though, and Ferdinand can’t help but laugh, and the tension blessedly breaks with the amused pfft Hubert sends back his way.

“Not unwelcome, you say,” Ferdinand says, before the last of his adrenaline leaves him, eyes falling again on Hubert’s kiss-stained lips. “Does that mean that perhaps, in other circumstances, you might wish to continue?”

Hubert opens his mouth, and then closes it, and then opens it again, and says, pink cheeked still: “In other circumstances, yes. That are not in a monastery classroom.”

“Well. That is welcome information. Understood,” Ferdinand says, and his heart starts thumping in his chest again; whether it is nerves or excitement, he’s not too sure. 

It’s not like he hasn’t speculated, of course. A whole deal of speculation had gone on before he and Hubert had ever stated their intentions towards one another at all; perhaps a little too much speculation, in fact. But speculation has all it has been, what with the expectations of nobility and then the rather pressing issue of war. And Ferdinand may be an optimist, but he rather suspects there is quite a difference between imagination and reality.

A thought strikes him. He may not have practical experience, but he has overcome greater difficulties than this. He can apply himself, as he has before, and triumph.

“Hubert, I want to ask something of you.”

“Mm?”

“You are rather special to me,” Ferdinand blurts. “And while this is all, well, somewhat different to how we might have gone about things had we courted in the traditional way, I still believe you deserve the best of me that I can bring.”

“I don’t quite catch your meaning, but your usual overblown sentiment is appreciated,” Hubert says cautiously.

“What I mean to say is... I might be lacking in know-how presently, but I will apply myself to study of the subject,” Ferdinand declares, warming to his theme. “So that should the circumstances present themselves, you will not find me lacking. In fact, we might even learn a thing or two together, if you would indulge me.”

“Study of the...? Oh,” says Hubert, having followed the thread of his thoughts and crashed headlong into their conclusion. “Ferdinand, it is not necessary to—”

“I want to! This is important. As are you,” Ferdinand says, and he feels a swell of resolve. “There is no area of expertise we cannot master, Hubert. Together we shall triumph.”

Hubert pinches the bridge of his nose. “There is no discouraging you from this course of action, is there?”

“None at all,” Ferdinand says resolutely, and is only a little surprised when Hubert kisses him once more.

—

Had Ferdinand still been the scion of Aegir, he would have had sent a servant along to collect relevant material as he had on the past, so that he might peruse it all at once, compare and contrast. But this is wartime, and anyway Ferdinand doesn’t have servants anymore, and so what he has to work with is a trip to Garreg Mach township and a set of market stalls in a back alley. It’s run by two identical sisters who assure him he will find everything he needs right here at the best price, and he only blushes a little when they show him the range. There are plenty of periodicals, treatises and pamphlets, so he collects one of everything he can find, for a wide range of opinion. The last thing he picks up is an illustrated book, and when one of the sisters rifles through the pages to pick out a particular page to show him, his eyebrows reach his hairline.

“Rather inventive,” he says, rotating the book ninety degrees.

“I’ll say,” she agrees amenably. “Tell you what, if you take it along with the others, I’ll give it to you for a third off.”

He accepts, and the bundle is wrapped in brown parchment and tucked under his arm as he returns to the monastery.

As Ferdinand persuades his purchases later that night, the door to his room bolted and a dim candle lit on his desk, it turns out to be quite the variety. One is a scrappy pamphlet that looks like it has been written by hand, but it seems to contain quite practical information, so he places that aside on the ‘useful’ pile. Another is a slim volume called _A Night With The Count, Remembered_ \- it’s been quite the market for a while for minor nobles to claim to have regained the memories of their crest ancestors, with all the sordid details they might contain. Intriguing, but perhaps not immediately constructive, so he will put that aside for another time. A few other pamphlets contain a range of quizzes, lists of tips and articles, which he sorts accordingly. And then, of course, there is the illustrated book, which is no less inventive on the other pages than on the one the market seller had shown. Some seem almost academic in their impracticality, to his novice eye, but one that catches his attention is two men amongst a pile of sumptuous embroidered pillows. One is sat upright with his legs straight out in front of him, the other is astride him, head thrown back in ecstasy. The man below grips his partner’s hips, looking at him in adoration, the faintest crisscross of red lines trailing down his partner’s back towards where his own fingers sit. Ferdinand beholds his, and the points at which the two of them are joined, and feels his face grow warm.

No time to get distracted right now. He is here for education. He closes that book for now and picks up the hand-written pamphlet in one hand, a quill poised over some spare parchment in the other. After he reads that one, he picks up another, and later, a third. In time, the candle burns low.

—

Ferdinand is no literary critic but _A Night With The Count, Remembered_ turns out to be surprisingly good. The prose, while a little florid, skips along the page and the pace stays lively throughout. The ancestral Count - his house and crest not named, probably to avoid the author getting into trouble, though they are only credited as A Noble - is pursued by a young noblewoman but finds himself quite enchanted by her brother. The brother, misunderstanding and vexed by the perceived slight, visits the Count’s keep to defend his sister’s honour. Sparks fly in their confrontation until the Count finds himself pinned, a knife to his neck. In the end, however it only takes but a word, a look between them before the blade clatters to the floor and they find themselves in one another’s arms, and, eventually, bent over the bed.

Ferdinand starts to read this one at his desk. But the way his face grows hot as he reads of the Count and his partner’s activities, his pulse thumping in his neck all the way down to between his legs, means he finds himself stretching back in bed instead, letting himself pore over the sentences that send sparks through his blood. Their caresses, where their mouths travel on one another’s bodies, what parts of one another their hands find; it’s all lovingly, luxuriously described at length. Who would he prefer to be in such a situation, Ferdinand wonders idly as his hand trails over his own neck. The hot headed brother, seduced but in control, or the Count, wanting from the first but willing to be possessed?

He palms himself through his breeches, book placed to one side temporarily. The imagination of sharp, cold steel against his neck briefly flickers through his mind and he gasps, hips lurching forward a little. Then he conjures the thought of a low voice murmuring a threat into his ear, and finds himself choking back a faint moan.

Hm. Perhaps a little over-ambitious at this point in time, but something to file away, he thinks vaguely. Then he throws off any notion of further study this evening.

—

He returns to the illustrated book last of all and with his new found knowledge, some of the pictures he had previously disregarded seem somewhat more plausible. He still finds himself captivated, however, by the illustration what had caught his eye previously. The intimacy, the adoration, hands gripping hips; he takes it all in again, and remembers the feel of Hubert’s body flush against his own. And while nerves remain, he finds a rush of longing sweeping through him far more powerfully.

He has devoted himself to study. Perhaps, now, Hubert might find him worthy of putting it into practice.

—

A day or two later there is a knock at his door. “Von Aegir?”

“Hubert! Come in,” Ferdinand calls through the wood, sat at his desk, and Hubert slips in, taking care that the door closes silently behind him, a habit that the man seems to find hard to shake off these days.

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” Ferdinand says. “A pleasant surprise, of course.”

“A surprise? You said in your note you had urgent documents for us to review.”

“Ah, my apologies for the misunderstanding. I had said ‘important’ but they are hardly urgent. Still, since you are here, can you spare the time?”

“I had planned to discuss some strategic details with the Professor, but I can stay for—”

“Excellent. Now, tell me what you think of this,” Ferdinand says, and hands him a clipped out article. It was the most helpful he’d found of the lot; while the language was a little antiquated, and the grammar sub par, it had answered a number of questions Ferdinand hadn’t even known he was asking.

“ _In Consideration of Relations; A Guide for the Purposes of Education, Preparation and_ — Ferdinand, I was expecting weapon convoy contracts. This is...”

“A guide, yes,” Ferdinand says. “To sex. I found it very helpful and I thought you might too. There are diagrams.”

“So when you said you would apply yourself to study of the subject,” Hubert says, a slight croak to his voice, “You meant that utterly literally.”

“Of course. What other way would I mean it? I am a man of my word, Hubert, and honestly I am glad that I made this resolution. There are many things I had not considered on which I now have clarity. For instance: angles. Positions. Lubrication. Timings. Even diet! Of course, there is no need to us to rush such things, but forewarned is forearmed, as they say, yes?”

“So they do,” Hubert manages.

“And of course, while basic knowledge of the mechanics is important, we should take the time to discover our each other’s preferences and predilections, perhaps on our own or as a shared activity.” 

“I see.”

“For instance—” Ferdinand starts rifling through the papers on his desk and then pulls out another clipping. “This treatise recommends a number of positions but recommends you adjust them depending on your respective heights and weights.”

“Mm?”

He then lifts up the illustrated book, which falls open on a page that makes Hubert gape. “And along with some rather creative positions, this book suggests a number of activities we might try prior to... any full act, as it were, in order to learn more about one another, and—” Ferdinand catches Hubert’s expression and his heart sinks. “Ah. I’ve overdone it again, haven’t I?”

Hubert’s lips twitch upward at his, even as his fingers twist the pamphlet gently. “Ferdinand von Aegir? Overdoing something? I am struck down with shock.”

Ferdinand groans and lets his forehead fall to the desk. “Ugh, I’ve been reading all these things for days and then I’ve just gone and launched it all at you like Caspar with a javelin,” he says to the wood. “When you were expecting a discussion on convoy contracts.”

“For days, you say?” Hubert says, and picks up a few texts from Ferdinand’s desk. “Such commitment to the subjects of _How to Drive Thy Lover Wild, Seventeen Tippes for Male Carnal Pleasure_ and _Better Appreciating the Rear—_ ”

Ferdinand makes another agonised noise into his desk, like a dying animal. “You are monstrous. Torment me no longer, you devil.”

Ferdinand feels a hand fall upon his shoulder, give it a gentle pat. He lifts his head. Hubert is beside him, face crooked into kindness.

“Ferdinand, your attentiveness, and your dedication to whatever you set your mind to regardless of the results, are just some of your abominably admirable qualities,” he says, now tucking a strand of hair behind Ferdinand’s ear. “While this is not the method I would personally have employed, I would not dare dream to hold you back.”

“Nevertheless, I apologise. I hope you can appreciate the spirit of my intentions, if not the delivery.” He tilts his head into Hubert’s hand, looking up at him. “I… hold you in very high esteem, you see.”

Hubert looks down and away at this, hair dropping further in front of his face, but he strokes a thumb over Ferdinand’s cheek. “That you would go to such lengths for… for this, is another reason why I hold you in similar esteem.” 

Ferdinand feels warmth bloom in his chest at Hubert’s words. He leans into Hubert’s touch, smiling at him, and there’s a small, quiet moment, Hubert’s thumb following his cheekbone and both of them enjoying the simple warmth of contact.

“Out of interest,” Ferdinand says eventually, “What method would you have employed?”

“Hm?”

“You mentioned you would have taken a different tack. Care to share?”

“Well,” says Hubert, and there’s a little uncertainty back in his face, a hint of a blush, and he pulls his hand away from Ferdinand’s face. “I suppose when you said ‘apply yourself to study of the subject’ I had assumed it might have been more. Ah, practical experimentation, rather than theoretical. You are a kinetic learner, after all.”

“Oh,” Ferdinand says, and then, “ _Oh_ ,” and then, “Well, while I still maintain that my methods hold merit, perhaps yours shouldn’t be discounted either. Should you still be interested.”

“I am,” says Hubert, and the two of them are caught in each other’s eyes, each trying to read what lies behind. And just as Ferdinand thinks he might die if Hubert doesn’t kiss him, Hubert leans down, catching his jaw in both hands, and Ferdinand’s embarrassment melts away in the heat of Hubert’s mouth. One of Hubert’s hands slides into Ferdinand’s hair and balls into a gentle fist, tugging his hair lightly at the roots, and Ferdinand thinks briefly of the knife at the Count’s neck before kissing Hubert so thoroughly it takes both their breath away.

“Allow me to take you to dinner one night this week,” Ferdinand says, when they finally pull apart. “Whenever would suit you. As apology.”

“Apology isn’t necessary, and neither is dinner.” Hubert says, reluctantly letting go of Ferdinand’s hair as he straightens.

“Nonsense. Now that supply lines to the locality are reinvigorated, I know of a place that does a wonderful two-fish sautée, and I know that is a weakness of yours. And it will get you away from the war room for a hour or two.”

A twitch upward of the corners of Hubert’s mouth. “As you wish. Perhaps at the end of the week. I shall mark it upon my agenda, if you are not otherwise occupied with, ah,” Hubert looks down at the scattered documents again, “The _Ultimate Guide to Mind-Blowing B—_ ”

“Goodbye, Hubert,” Ferdinand says loudly, and Hubert’s low chuckle follows him out of the door.

And Ferdinand may still feel a little chastened, but he also can’t help but notice that when Hubert leaves he takes the clipped-out article that Ferdinand had first pressed into his hand along with him.

—

The meal is delightful, the wine better, the company exquisite, and as Ferdinand shyly hooks his arm into the crook of Hubert’s own as they return to the monastery they both take in the sight of the sun setting behind the Oghma mountains in shades of pink and orange. For a moment it is enough for Ferdinand to set thoughts of the Kingdom and what awaits them there aside, to just behold the way the dying light catches the angles of Hubert’s face and stains it pink. To let that fondness that has grown beneath his sternum bloom and fill his chest with petals as he watches Hubert talk, and follows the movements of his free hand as it conducts his speech. There truly is no-one higher in his esteem, Ferdinand thinks. Hubert deserves the very best of him.

By the time they have climbed the hill to the monastery the light has almost completely faded and Imperial soldiers are starting to light the lamps that guide the way through the gardens and passageways. New as this is, the two of them would usually disentangle themselves within sight of the troops, out of a vague sense of propriety. But Ferdinand finds that this time he cannot bring himself to do so, and even when he sees that Hubert’s gaze is flickering cautiously between Ferdinand and the passers by, all he does is give Hubert’s arm a gentle squeeze. And after a while, he feels the muscles of Hubert’s arm relax under his hand, and he can’t help but pat it gently with his fingers.

They stay arm in arm until they reach the second floor dormitories, and it seems so very natural to let Hubert into his room, as he has done many times before. But as the door closes a tension hums in the air between them. Ferdinand perches on the bed, as he often does, but rather than taking the single chair at the desk Hubert sits down beside him, the thin mattress dipping and creaking with their combined weight. The air is thick with words unsaid since their last meeting, and Ferdinand is suddenly acutely aware of the piles of documents still scattered on his desk. Clinical descriptions and lewd suggestions, diagrams and hedonistic woodcuts, and all of it suddenly ephemeral in comparison to the physical reality of Hubert, here, sat next to him on his own bed. Hubert’s thigh presses against Ferdinand’s own, a line of heat between them that right now, almost feels like it burns.

“While I maintain that the gesture was needless, nevertheless I must thank you for a pleasant evening,” Hubert says, awkwardly, as if to break the silence. 

“Well, I too must thank you, for your presence contributed a great deal to the pleasantness of the occasion,” Ferdinand finds himself saying, and then curses himself; he’s babbling. This won’t do. How can he be babbling? 

“It would seem, then, that we both quite enjoyed the evening,” Hubert says, and that is definitely babbling, which is a rare sight. Nerves are boiling away in Ferdinand’s stomach but so is determination and desire. What is he waiting for? He has prepared for this. He has studied. He is Ferdinand von Aegir, and any moment now he is going to...

Hubert turns and kisses him, thank the goddess.

This is familiar territory at least, the last traces of the wine they’d shared on their tongues, the question and answer of their mouths pressing together, the faintest scrape of the day’s growth of stubble. Ferdinand will never get tired of this, never get bored of the faint sounds that come from the back of Hubert’s throat. The long, breathy sigh when Ferdinand pulls away and instead traces kisses from the middle of his neck up to his earlobe, and the gasp when Ferdinand catches it between his teeth. All of it is a gift.

Turned towards Hubert he is, it feels natural to rest one hand on Hubert’s opposite thigh and slide his palm up and down along the smooth fabric of Hubert’s trousers, and Hubert reaches for him in response, at Hubert’s touch and his hand reflexively tightens on Hubert’s upper thigh in a way that makes Hubert make a hmm sound into their mouths. They’re leaning closer, falling into one another as best they can at the awkward angle, and the illustration that had enraptured Ferdinand so flits through his mind. With that, he disentangles himself and asks, hoarsely: “Might I make a suggestion?”

“Mm?” Hubert’s reply is a little distracted, his hand reaching again for Ferdinand almost of its own accord, but Ferdinand lifts and swings a leg across Hubert to settle into his lap, a knee pressed into the mattress either side of Hubert’s thighs. Pinned so, Hubert’s eyes go wide and his hands dance across Ferdinand’s waist and hips, as if nervous to settle in any one place.

“Is this alright?” Ferdinand asks, belatedly, suddenly worrying. “I can…”

“I. Ah. Yes, yes, very much so,” Hubert croaks in reply. His palms finally come to rest along the line of Ferdinand’s belt, running his thumbs along the leather reverently.

“Good. I hope you will indulge me if I continue to ask,” Ferdinand says, and his hands alight upon Hubert’s elbows, up his arms and finally to cradle his face, and this time when their lips meet, it’s less of a question and answer and more of a mutual demand.

Ferdinand feels heat blooming from his neck all the way to the top of his ears, nerves and desire, but so too blooms that fondness for Hubert so that he feels like he might burst with the combination. Their hands map the planes of one another’s bodies through fabric and skitter closer and closer to buttons, laces, clips. As they pull their bodies towards each other, as Ferdinand lets more of his weight settle onto Hubert rather than his own knees, as their need for each other only becomes more obvious. The atmosphere between them seems thick in a way that previously they have merely skirted near and then darted away like minnows, as they had in the classroom only a few days before. But despite their nerves neither of them shy from each other now, even as their hips come together. Hubert draws in a ragged, gasping breath when Ferdinand rolls downward, and his hands fall back upon Ferdinand’s belt, not guiding, just following Ferdinand’s movement.

“Yes,” Ferdinand finds himself murmuring. “Oh Hubert, this is... you feel—”

Hubert doesn’t reply in words but Ferdinand can feel him starting to shift, pinned below Ferdinand as he is, trying to meet Ferdinand’s movement as best as he can, his grip tightening a little on Ferdinand’s hips. Hubert is starting to look rather less well put together than he had over their meal - his hair rumpled and curling, a flush in his face, lips stained pink again, all of it a delightful invitation for Ferdinand to fluster him further.

To that end it is now Ferdinand’s duty to apply his newfound knowledge, he decides, unclipping Hubert’s belt and then making fast work of his jacket and smoothing it off his shoulders. He then helpfully unpins his own cravat so Hubert can take the time to do the same to him, but can’t hold back his gasp of surprise when Hubert follows this by reaching to press his lips against his neck, kiss his way to the dip of his collar. When his teeth gently scrape against Ferdinand’s skin, Ferdinand thinks again of _A Night With the Count, Remembered_.

“May I?” Ferdinand manages eventually, plucking at the collar button of Hubert’s shirt, and Hubert takes a moment to reply, gathering his wits.

“If you wish,” he manages, and then when Ferdinand still hesitates, adds “I mean. I’d like you to. If you also do.”

“I do,” Ferdinand says fervently, and that’s enough for the both of them. 

When Hubert’s shirt cuffs reach his gloves he lets the arms slip past without taking the gloves off, and Ferdinand knows better than to ask. Whatever secrets Hubert has are his to share if he wishes, and not before. Hubert’s frame is so different to his own, long and pale and angled, but Ferdinand is captivated, running his hands across his pale chest, along his shoulders, pressing to feel each vertebra under his fingers. The occasional scar crosses his skin, mostly faint and long healed, but Ferdinand has his fair share of those to match. There had been much advice in his research about taking the time to see how one’s lover responds to touch - Ferdinand soon learns that when he runs a hand over Hubert’s stomach he shivers, and when he softly drags his nails down the length of Hubert’s spine, Hubert lets out a long, shaky breath.

Hubert eventually tugs Ferdinand’s shirt tails from the waistband of his breeches, and once they’ve fumbled buttons and tossed it aside the feel of their skin in close contact is something that Ferdinand finds addicting from the first taste. Keep the hands busy, one article had told him, but how could he not? He never wants to stop touching Hubert, doesn’t know how he lived this long without it. Hubert seems to feel similarly, his hands searching out every newly revealed stretch of Ferdinand’s skin even through his gloves, murmuring to himself.

Ferdinand drags his fingers down Hubert’s chest from the collarbone, trailing through fine, patchy hair, and a tip from _How to Drive Thy Lover Wild_ occurs to him. He experimentally brushes his thumbs over Hubert’s nipples; Hubert draws in a slight breath, so Ferdinand does it again, and he feels them harden under the pads of his thumbs. 

“How is that?” he asks, and Hubert nods so Ferdinand continues, listening to the catching of Hubert’s breathing as his does, and then, when satisfied with their progress, bends their bodies so that he can enclose one with his mouth, kiss it gently. At this Hubert lets out a surprised, pleased hum, which slides into a gasp when Ferdinand sucks lightly, flicks the tip of his tongue experimentally over the hard nub, keeps going when Hubert gasps again. Then he cautiously catches it in his teeth, and gently pinches Hubert’s other nipple between thumb and forefinger at the same time. With that Hubert lets out a full bodied moan which suddenly mutes halfway - Ferdinand looks up and Hubert has his fingers pressed to his own mouth as if he is trying to push the sounds he has made back in, colour flooding his face up to the tips of his ears. Good work, _How to Drive Thy Lover Wild._ He smiles into Hubert’s skin and soothes it with a flat lick of the tongue.

Hubert is quite lovely like this, and Ferdinand has to tell Hubert so, which makes Hubert shake his head.

“No need for flattery,” he replies hoarsely, taking his hand away from his mouth. “You have me in a state, let’s leave it at that.”

“In a state, eh? So you will admit I was right to study so?” Ferdinand asks, and it takes Hubert a moment to catch up to Ferdinand’s train of thought, but when he does he barks a breathless laugh.

“Those damnable books and pamphlets of yours,” he says. “They certainly seemed to have... altered how I imagined this transpiring.”

“Oh? What did you imagine?” Ferdinand says, with a grin. “And how much imagining did you do, exactly?”

“Hmm. Ask me another time when I don’t prefer that you put your concentration elsewhere,” Hubert says, which is an evasion if Ferdinand has ever heard one, but in a way he’s relieved to hear it. The tension has been racketing so high between them ever since they sat on the bed that it’s a relief to hear Hubert laugh, to hear something a little playful out of his mouth. He kisses Hubert again, deep and full.

“You are lovely, though,” he says firmly when he pulls away. “I would never use mere flattery on you.”

Hubert’s replying twitch of a smile doesn’t convince Ferdinand, but he does let himself fall so his back to the mattress and then tug at Ferdinand’s arms in invitation. Even if it is a diversion, it’s rather hard to argue with. Ferdinand crawls over him and drops his lips to Hubert’s neck, tasting sweat, and then trails down over his collar bones and back to his chest, trying to pull some more of those noises from him. Hubert’s arms encircle him, trail up into his hair and then back down along his spine fitfully, as if trying to touch all of Ferdinand at once. Hubert’s hips are shifting restlessly beneath him, so Ferdinand drops his own, lets his thigh fall between both of Hubert’s, and he temporarily loses his concentration as they rut against each other, making soft noises in one another’s mouths as they kiss. The firm line of Hubert’s erection against his thigh sends a thrill of accomplishment through Ferdinand along with his desire. He wants more. More noises, more touching, more of his mouth on Hubert’s skin.

“Hubert,” he manages, “Hubert, can I—” The pair of them rut against each other again, and Ferdinand loses the train of his words. He reluctantly lifts himself away and feels Hubert chase the sudden loss of pressure, and with a rush of adrenaline Ferdinand reaches a hand between them and palms at the hard length he finds there. Hubert groans. “I want to touch you,” Ferdinand finally manages. “Please, may I?”

“I — ah — should have known you would be so... _noble_ about all this.”

“Can I take that as a yes?” He squeezes Hubert through the fabric of his trousers, and Hubert nods frantically.

“You as well, though,” he says suddenly. “I... would li— I want, to see all of you,” and Ferdinand could never refuse that.

If Ferdinand had found the contact of their skin exhilarating before, to be naked with Hubert is a revelation. Ferdinand can’t get enough of it, wants to press every inch of himself against every inch of Hubert; Hubert has no complaints, keeps digging frantic fingers into his muscle and murmuring “beautiful, beautiful” under his breath like a prayer. It sends sparks through Ferdinand’s blood. He finds himself astride Hubert again, rubbing himself against Hubert’s thigh mindlessly as he presses kisses, licks and nips of teeth to Hubert’s chest.

He takes Hubert’s cock in his hand and Hubert moans. “Tell me how to touch you,” Ferdinand says, starting with a steady rhythm, and Hubert flushes, nods, mumbles “Harder.”

“Like this? Tell me what you want.”

“More,” Hubert grates out. “Just like— ah, yes, like that, _please_ ,” and Ferdinand can’t help but feel the thrill of achievement.

Ferdinand tries to Hubert’s cues, listens to his moans, swipes his thumb over the head to catch when he’s leaking and drag it along his length. He’s flying on nerves and desire again now, on the perfect sight of Hubert shifting and moaning underneath him, on the intimacy of their touch. It’s like he can feel his heartbeat throughout his entire body and he can’t believe they haven’t done this sooner. 

“Ferdinand,” Hubert says, and how Ferdinand loves the way his name sounds in Hubert’s mouth right now, ragged and reverent. “Ferdinand, you are- you are _perfect_ —”

Riding the wave he shifts and dips his head to run his tongue up the length of Hubert’s cock as he holds it, and Hubert’s groan is muffled by his own fingers again, which is a little disappointing but understandable. Ferdinand looks up, meets Hubert’s wide eyes, does it again with a grin, tastes salt and sweat on his tongue. Hubert makes another strangled noise and presses both hands to his mouth now, his eyes wide but fixed immovably Ferdinand’s own.

“Still ok?” He says, pressing soft kisses along its length this time, and Hubert just nods again, hands still pressed to his own mouth.

Taking the tip into his mouth seems simple enough, as does laving his tongue against the underside, and Hubert still makes noise even through the cotton of his gloves. Ferdinand finds he can’t stay silent, either - with each pass of his mouth, trying to take in more, he finds he moans without thinking. There had been many different hints and tips about this particular activity in his research but he finds with each passing moment it’s getting a little more difficult to recall what they said. To think about anything, really, other than how Hubert tastes, the feel of him in his mouth. The stretch of his thighs, the angles of his bony hips. The sheer warm blooded reality that Hubert is really here, in his bed, underneath him. If he had his way, Ferdinand thinks to himself, they would never set foot outside of it again.

A hand brushes into his hair and he hums encouragingly, which makes it spasm of its own accord. Then it tightens more purposefully against his scalp, the way it had in this very room not a few days before. The tug sends a shiver down the back of Ferdinand’s neck and he takes Hubert as deeply as he can - which, objectively speaking, probably could use some practice. But Hubert is still making good noises, and his hand still tugs gently at his hair, and that’s a rather lovely rhythm for them to fall into. He drags his palms along the inside of Hubert’s thighs, across his hips, between his legs, enchanted by the way Hubert’s body moves with his touch.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert gasps a warning, and Ferdinand pulls away, drags himself up Hubert’s body, kisses him as deeply as he can as he takes him back in hand. Hubert whimpers into his mouth, his hips moving in little starts. And that’s it, Ferdinand means it now: they will never leave this bed again, not for all the tea in Fódlan. Not if it means he can hear Hubert’s cry, feel Hubert spend across his fingers, listen to his erratic breathing as he comes back to himself. He presses his ear to Hubert’s chest, listens to his thumping heart. It’s perfect.

“Ok?” Ferdinand asks, and Hubert nods emphatically, then adds “More than,” in such an reverent tone that Ferdinand has to laugh. He kisses Hubert again and the response is slow, lazy, but deep.

Before long Ferdinand is chasing the kiss a little more hungrily than perhaps he should, but he’s still hard, still wants, is honestly two words away from just clambering back on top of him and rutting against his stomach until his spend joins the mess. Hubert catches the needy edge to the kiss, though, brings a hand up to cup his cheek.

“What do you want, Ferdinand?”

“I want you,” says Ferdinand, mindlessly, because it’s true, and there’s that low chuckle of Hubert’s.

“So it would seem, for whatever reason. But how do you want me?”

“I—” A dozen images flicker through Ferdinand’s mind, and they all look like the illustrations in the book he had bought, and the one that he sees above all is the one of the two men, one in the other’s lap, red lines down his back. “I don’t know,” he confesses, “I just want to...”

“I know you have done a lot of reading around the subject,” Hubert says, and there he goes, teasing again. But something of that playfulness seems to fade when he adds: “And, I, ah, have done the reading homework that you set me. As it were. So...”

The idea is still thrilling. Ferdinand wants to be as close to Hubert as possible, know everything there is to know about him, still give him the very best of himself. But Ferdinand can feel some of that thick, nervous tension returning to the room, unwelcome in the warm afterglow of his recent achievements. So instead he just kisses Hubert until the tension drains out of him again and then asks, “Just touch me, please. I’ll show you how.”

Hubert’s brows knit faintly. “You are sure?”

“Let’s not worry about it too much. We have plenty of time.”

Ferdinand’s words feel like an absolute truth when the two of them lay side by side, their legs entwined, Hubert’s hand moving between them as they kiss. Just as the light of the sunset reflecting off the mountains as they had walked back from the township seemed to contain the promise of a future, so too do the intimate shadows of the room they share. Even here in the dark that blossoming affection within Ferdinand only grows and builds, like he can feel it in the ends of his hair and the tips of his toes. Even as he spills between them with a cry that Hubert drinks up with his lips he knows he will never feel empty.

Ferdinand knows courtship, has made great study of it. He knows sex, too, now, he supposes, though he feels more more practical lessons might come in handy. What he and Hubert have is both of these things, and neither, and so much more, and it is quickly becoming apparent that no amount of reading will entirely prepare him for what comes their way. But he cannot wait to see it, and in the meantime, he still has a few books he’d like to show Hubert.

**Author's Note:**

> This got away from me a bit, and also is the most smut I have written in one go... ever, maybe? So, uh, hopefully you enjoyed. Sorry if you didn’t. Maybe I’ll add another chapter one day.
> 
> Join me on twitter for almost entirely safe for work shenanigans at @hausofthestars. I draw a lot of ferdibert looking romantically at each other.


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